Miles To Go Before I Sleep
by MistWraith
Summary: Dean had believed that he had failed his family, failed Sam.  But until today, he had no idea how badly. WARNING: DEATH FIC.  T for language. Please R&R.


**Disclaimer**: I wish, I wish, I wish…but, nope.

**A/N**: This is post-AHBL-2, and plays on some stuff that came out in the first two episodes of Season 3, "The Magnificent Seven" and "The Kids are Alright." So, spoilers for all three episodes. Warning: there be **death fic** ahead!

Please let me know what you think.

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**And Miles to Go Before I Sleep**

Looking back, Dean would remember how beautiful a day it had been, the day he killed his brother. A cloudless blue sky, a laughing breeze--and a gathering of fucking demons. Come to bow down before the Boy King.

There were two months left on his Deal, two months before Hell came to collect on his life and his soul, and Dean had finally realized just how much of a fool he had been. All those demons who had sneered a him, who had called him worthless and a failure, couldn't have been more right. He had thought, sitting there ten months ago over the body of his brother, crying and talking about how he had failed at his job, that he knew exactly how badly he had screwed up.

He hadn't had a fucking clue.

It had _all_ been part of the damn Demon's plan. Sammy's dying, the Deal, everything. The yellow-eyed bastard knew It would never have been able to twist Sam into what It really wanted him to be, not by itself. No, it needed the help of Sam's moronic fuckup of an older brother to do that. And Dean had played right into Azazel's hands, running off to sell his soul to the crossroads demon for Sammy's life. Because the one thing that would send Sam down the black brick road to Hell would be his desperation to save Dean.

The only thing the Demon hadn't counted on was not being there to see the fruition of It's plans, thanks to Dean and the last of Samuel Colt's bullets. And Its death had set off a firestorm in Hell, as other demons jockeyed and fought for power. Factions had arisen, but many of those who escaped that night and many more in Hell itself remained faithful to their former Lord and Master and lined up behind Its favorite, Its preferred choice to lead the demon army.

"_I'll get to you in a minute, champ. I always knew you had it in you."_ But it took Dean to make it happen.

The blonde bitch had led Sam around, promising ways to break the Deal, none of which had worked of course, until Sam, desperate and frightened for Dean as the clock ticked down, had tapped into his powers. Powers that Sam had rejected to that point, rightly worried about the demonic taint he had acquired at six-months old.

Dean scrubbed his face. If only Sam had told him about the demon-blood cocktail the Demon had shown him sooner, before Sam had opened himself to what lay within. Dean would never have let him do it, would have chosen to end his "year" after only six months to stop Sam's throwing himself into the destiny they both had been fighting against all this time.

Now, it was too late. Before Dean had had any idea what was happening, Sam had reached deeply within and pulled all his hidden abilities to the surface, with the goal of controlling demons and forcing whoever held Dean's contract to cancel it. The problem was, Sam had only cared about what happened to Dean when he was still _Sam_; as he fell deeper into the demon-inspired sea of powers, only power and pain and the domination of Hell interested him.

Perhaps the New and Not-So-Improved Sam even relished the idea that, when the Deal came due, Dean would be Hell's newest toy and thus under the thumb of his little brother.

Dean had finally seen the magnitude of his failure, when demon-ridden hosts had come to pledge their allegiance in the coming demonic struggle to The Chosen One (as opposed, Dean assumed, to The Chosen Ones of all the other factions) who, after Hell's civil war was over, would then lead the army to the conquest of humanity. Thinking he had been saving Sam from an early and undeserved death, Dean had instead brought about the very fate he had once promised both his father _and_ Sam he would prevent.

_If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to save you._

At the last, he finally understood what that meant. And that for Winchesters, there was no such thing as a happy ending.

Standing at the window in the den of the expensively furnished house one of Sam's wealthy--or, at least, the _host_ was wealthy--followers had given the newly risen Demon King, he watched new adherents arrive each hour, all of them come to honor The One. Sam sat in the backyard as if on a throne, acknowledging each oath with an icy smile. Though branches and flowers danced in the wind, Sam's hair--still in desperate need of a haircut as far as Dean was concerned--never stirred.

Dean reached down into his backpack and pulled out the Key of Solomon. He had confiscated it some three months after the Deal, when he realized Sam was trying to use it to find a way to break the contract. Since Dean was aware of the book, any attempt to scotch the Deal using anything in the book could be considered an attempt by Dean to welsh if Dean had left the Key in Sam's hands. So he had snatched it away one day and hidden it, refusing to reveal its location despite Sam's arguments, anger, pleas or tears.

When he could no longer deny the truth, when he knew that he had well and truly failed to protect Sam from the fate Sam had feared more than anything else, Dean knew the time had come to rectify his mistake and to save his brother as he had promised to do. Dean had become a virtual prisoner, kept away from Sam by his little brother's minions, but he had put the time to good use. He doubted that anyone, including Bobby, had the knowledge he did now of the contents of the Key.

It took him a while, but he had at last figured out what he needed to do. Holding the book tightly, he made his way to his bedroom. A while ago, before Sam had completely closed himself off to anything but the growing darkness within him, he had noticed Dean was uncomfortable around the ever-increasing numbers of demons who served The Chosen One and given strict orders that Dean's room was off limits. The order would serve Dean well, now.

Today was the day he honored _both_ promises, the one made in the car after Meg had possessed Sam, and the one he had made to a drunken Sam in the haunted hotel.

He had just not understood until now that they were the same promise.

He first drew the curtains then cleared the center of the room and pulled away the rug to reveal a painted circle, graced within by carefully-drawn Hebrew lettering. Inscribed candles were pulled out of his bottom drawer, set around the circle with precision and lit. Dean seated himself in the center of the circle--should anyone break in they would not be able to reach him--and he began to chant. Solomon had been a Master of demonkind and the Key contained, carefully hidden within the surface spells and chants, exactly what he had needed.

The ancient words, at first just that, words, gradually became something more, something almost unearthly and he felt himself pulled out of the room into a darkness that, surprisingly, was welcoming and cocooning rather than a construct of evil. As he continued to chant, the words seemed to take fire, becoming visible in the darkness. He could feel the power building within him. When it reached the point where he thought it would burn him from the inside out, he threw it out from him, as the ritual required. He could almost hear the power winging its way toward Hell.

Time wherever he was had no meaning and he had no idea how long he waited there. Then, without warning, he heard a cry of rage, as if from a great distance, and he felt somehow...lighter. He knew then the ritual had worked and the weight on his soul had been removed. And he could hear words, dark and chilling, hurled at him through the darkness.

"No one takes that which is mine! You were warned what would happen if you reneged on the deal. My hold over you is broken, but I will take back what was given! May the knowledge of the price paid haunt you forever."

With that, Dean's eyes snapped open and he was back in his room. A moment later, he could hear the sound of running feet and then shouts from outside. He stood and slowly walked back downstairs to the den window. The sky was as blue, the breeze as playful, the flowers as colorful. Only one thing had changed.

Sam no longer sat in the high-backed chair. He knelt on the ground, one hand reaching to his back, where Dean could see the growing stain where Jake's knife had slid in. Sam raised his head, staring through the window at him and, just the second before they closed forever, Dean saw _Sam_, his Sam, in those eyes for the first time in half a year.

And his little brother smiled at him, a true smile, warm and caring, and his lips moved. _Thank you_.

Then Sam was gone, taking Dean's heart with him. And Dean was alone, as he would be forever.

Dean whispered another spell from the Key and Sam's body began to flame; Dean would not leave it behind to be used by Hell. He picked up his duffel bag, which he had packed earlier with everything he had left in his life that mattered to him, and the backpack and left the house. As the Impala roared away from the burning dead, the milling and now-leaderless demons, he vowed silently to make Hell and demonkind pay.

An oath from a time past echoed in his mind. _I will march into Hell and slaughter everyone of you evil sons-of-bitches, so help me God!_

And he would. For Mom and Dad and, above all, for Sammy.

Hell would learn what a Winchester with nothing left to lose could do. Until the day the darkness pulled him down--and he was sure that day would come--he would make it pay, in blood and fire and fear.

Until it was _his_ name that made demons flinch.

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**A/N: **The title is from a Robert Frost poem, the last three lines of which are: "For I have promises to keep/And miles to go before I sleep/And miles to go before I sleep."

Thanks for taking the time to read the story.


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